


The Incomplete Hearts of Alistair Smythe

by Dinos_and_Aliens



Category: Ultimate Spider-Man (2017), Ultimate Spider-Man (Cartoon), Ultimate Spider-Man (Disney XD)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-01-22 11:56:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12481008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dinos_and_Aliens/pseuds/Dinos_and_Aliens
Summary: At age fifteen, everyone develops a half-heart mark on the inside of their wrist that can only be completed when they make physical contact with their soulmate. Alistair has two soulmarks. What could that possibly mean for him? How can someone have two soulmates? Why does Peter look at him like that?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction in a very long time. I actually kin as Alistair Smythe which is why a majority of this will be written from his point of view.

This school is a fucking nightmare. The only thing people know about me is my father, Spencer Smythe, the smartest and most hated teacher in Midtown High. The only thing that keeps a target off my back is my ability to fake confidence. I pretend to be important. I drop my father’s name like it’s something to be proud of, but it’s not. From the outside looking in, we seem like the typical rich father and his spoiled stuck-up brat of a son, and we were for a very long time, but things changed when I developed my soulmarks.

My father was normal, he had a half-heart mark on the inside of his wrist from the day he turned fifteen to the day he met my mother when the the half became whole. His mark has been steadily fading since her death. If she was still here, she would’ve smiled at the sight of my two incomplete soulmarks, one on each wrist. “My precious, lucky boy,” she would’ve said as she held my trembling hands, “One day, you’ll be getting twice the love as everyone else!”

Unfortunately, she wasn’t here anymore. All I got when my soulmarks appeared was a look of disappointed shock and a month of seeing every doctor and specialist in the area to figure out how to fix me. Every single doctor we saw said the same thing, “Mister Smythe, while it is unusual to have two soulmates, there is nothing wrong with your son.”

He never believed them. He pushed me away, unwilling to handle his broken child. Even now as I sit in his cold classroom waiting for the morning bell to ring, he won’t look at me. It’s clear I’m no longer his son in his eyes. The bell rang, its sharp cry shattering the dark cloud of my thoughts. Students began filing into the chemistry class. My lab partner, a kind yet eccentric freshman named Steph, took their seat next to me, their multitude of backpack clips rattling together as they shoved their bag under our table. We exchanged an awkward good morning before they turned their attention to some game on their phone.

As all the students took their seats, Midtown High’s resident power couple sauntered in just before the tardy bell rang. Peter Parker and Harry Osborn, sixteen year old soulmates, they had been friends for an eternity and boyfriends for almost as long. I couldn’t help but be a little jealous of the easygoing air between them. I coveted the love in their eyes as they chattered on about nothing, sharing an iced coffee from the local cafe. I felt that ever familiar pang in my heart, that longing to find my own soulmates, the two people who I was destined to love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for how short this is aaa. I plan on writing much more very soon!!  
> <3 ~Stephie


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smythe gets into a freaking fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promisepromisepromise we will be getting into the romance plot in the next chapter! I swear!! This encounter serves as a bit of a catalyst for the plot.

Once everyone was settled at their lab stations, my father began the class. His voice grated on my ears as he explained the lab we would be doing that period. He completed his explanation, and we all got to work. Despite their shyness, Steph and I worked well together, mixing chemicals and collecting data in silence.

We were both so focused on observing an interesting reaction, we didn’t see Flash sneak up and steal a shimmery green dragon clip off of Steph’s bag until the tiny plush was in his hands. Steph reached out for it, but Flash held it high above their head. “Give Cinder back, you whore!” for someone who spent so much time in silence, Steph had a pretty powerful voice. “Give him back!” they continued to plead as they frantically snatched for their little dragon.

“God, you’re so weird,” Flash pushed them just hard enough to make them stumble into our table, almost knocking over our experiment. “You’re seriously freaking out over a little toy? You need to grow up,” he tossed the clip into a beaker on his desk while his stupid jerk of a lab partner laughed. I don’t know what he had in that beaker, but it dissolved the poor glittery lizard into a gooey lump.

Steph’s anger and shock were quickly replaced by a blank look. They turned away from the smiling beefheads and continued writing down notes for our report. Even though they didn’t say a word, I could see faint tears forming in their silver-blue eyes.

I felt an unreasonable amount of anger stirring in my gut. While we may not have spoken often, Steph always went out of their way to be kind to those around them. Even if they were a little odd, they didn’t deserve to be tormented by some brainless jerk because of it. “Hey, Flash,” he didn’t hear me, or perhaps, he was ignoring me, “Yo Fuckface Flash!” I shouted.

The class went dead silent.

“The hell did you just call me?” Oh gosh, he’s actually kinda scary when he’s mad.

“Y-you heard me!” I cursed myself for stuttering, but continued anyway, “I think you owe my friend here an apology.”

He scoffed, “Your friend? I didn’t think you had any of those. It makes sense though that the only person willing to stand stuck-up Smythe is stupid, silent Stephie.”

“I’m not stupid,” a small voice mumbled behind me.

“I’m sorry, what was that? I’ll need you to speak up, princess”

As he teased them, I glared up at my father’s desk, silently begging him to intervene. He didn’t even glance up from the book in his hands.

“I’m not stupid!” Steph continued to protest, their eyes burning defensively behind their violet-rimmed glasses, “You have no right to even call me that because I’m sure as hell smarter than you, shit-for-brains!”

The class murmured in awe. For many of them, it was the first time they had even heard Steph speak.

Flash narrowed his eyes, I could practically see the smoke rising from his head as his underused brain struggled for a good comeback. He gave up and instead shoved Steph hard to the ground. They let out an impossibly high yelp as their arm collided with the leg of our table.

That was the last straw. Seeing Steph drawn into themselves, their eyes distant and blank as they cradled their injured arm, something broke in me. I leapt at Flash, but before I could land a hit, he jerked his fist upwards and made contact with the side of my face.

Ouch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steph is a self insert I'm sorry. You probably won't see much of them after this I promise.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy!!

Flash, Steph, and I were sent to the principal’s office. Steph miraculously held no anger towards Flash. They let the school’s resource officer take a few photos of the deep purple bruise on their forearm before heading back to class, mumbling something about not wanting to miss their history notes. 

I held an ice pack to my swollen cheek as the principal droned on about ‘reckless actions’ and ‘zero-tolerance policies’. In the end, we both received a three-day suspension. 

Flash’s mother came to take him home, she looked disappointed but not surprised as she apologized for her son’s behavior. As I sat in the office, watching the principal try to determine what to do with me, my father appeared in the doorway his face flushed with rage. He spoke to the principal with an eerily calm voice, “I have this period open for planning. I’ll take my son home and have a word with him,” he glared in my direction, “I’ll be back before third period.” 

I followed him with my head down to his black sedan. We drove home in tense silence, my fingertips drumming nervously on the leather interior. 

When we finally reached the large house that was hardly a home to me anymore, my father finally spoke. “Alistair,” the disdain in his voice cut deep, “I am so deeply hurt that you would do such a foolish thing. Have you ever considered how your actions affect my image? I have done everything for you, but thanks to this outburst my fellow teachers are going to see me as a failed parent. I have had enough of your thoughtless behavior.” 

I tried to speak up but words failed me. 

“I don’t care what you do for now, but I don’t want to see you when I get home.” 

I didn’t say a word. I knew there was no use trying to fight my father. I nodded wordlessly and exited the car. My blank eyes watched as his car faded into the distance. I turned and stared at the house’s stone stairs. A place that was once so familiar to me suddenly seemed so alien. I threw my bookbag at the damned structure. It thudded uselessly against the siding and fell into a thorny bush. I turned away and ran. 

My mind went blank and my feet took the lead. They carried me back to the school where I collapsed, out of breath. Tears filled my eyes. I couldn’t risk someone seeing me like this. I darted to the back of the brick building as fast as my exhausted legs would carry me. Falling onto a patch of dead grass, the truth that I had been trying to avoid crashed down around me. I pulled my knees close to my chest and broke down tears soaking my navy skinny jeans as sobs wracked my body. My father hated me. He hated me, and it was all my fault. It’s all my fault. 

“Hey, are you okay?” 

I nearly leapt out of my skin. Standing above me with a look of concern in his dark eyes was the one and only Harry Osborn. “Buzz off, Osborn!” I growled, crossing my arms on top of my knees and hiding my tearstained face behind them. 

He sat next to me, his back against the red bricks, “Whatever’s going on, I don’t you should be left alone.” 

“I’m fine!” 

“It’s clear that you’re not,” he reached out to place a reassuring hand on my shoulder. The second his fingertips brushed against the fabric of my sweater vest, my arm erupted into white-hot pain. Harry must have felt it too. He jerked away, crying out as he clutched his arm to his chest. I looked at my wrist to see what had happened to me and couldn’t believe what I saw. The dark brown half-heart on my left wrist had been completed. The new half stung faintly as if it was a new tattoo. I looked at Harry in disbelief and noticed that he was staring dumbfounded at his own arm. On his left arm, just below the complete soulmark he shared with Peter, was a second heart, the skin around one half was puffy and red. We looked into eachother’s shocked eyes and one thought passed between us. 

_ We’re. . .soulmates? _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thiccens


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh guys,, I'm so sorry for the sudden hiatus, things got a little too stressful for me. Hopefully, I'll have more time and motivation to work on this. Until the next chapter, enjoy!

“I. . .uh. . .well. . .I’m sorry,” I turned away from Harry, but he grabbed my wrist before I could walk away.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, Alistair. You may not be who I expected, but I’m so glad I found you.” His eyes were kind; their silver-green gaze easing my anxiety a little. Harry glanced at the watch on his other wrist before letting go of me, “I’ve got to head back inside, study hall’s almost over.” He took a few steps away before turning back to me, “The cafe on Beacon Street, be there at 3:30 after school, coffee’s on me.” He turned away again and was gone before I could say another word.

I stood there dumbfounded for a moment; I couldn’t believe what had just happened to me. I began walking, my brain foggy as I tried to comprehend the whole situation.

_Harry._

Harry Osborne was my soulmate, the person I was destined to love for the rest of my life. I kicked a crumpled can, watching it rattle uselessly into the street. I glared through tears as a passing car crushed it into a meaningless sheet of aluminum on the pavement. _Stupid Osborne! Stupid soulmates! Stupid predestination!_

_Stupid me._

I wasn’t worth Harry’s time. He was kind and charismatic, a true friend to all, and I was nothing but a rude, snobbish fool. And now, here I am, no father, no home, _no one_. Staring at the concrete beneath my feet, my body began to move on its own. I was walking home. No, I was running. The autumn wind stung my face as the world flew past me. My lungs burned, and the miles passed underfoot.

I collapsed on the stone steps of my house, clinging hard to the iron railing as what was left of my meager breakfast was regurgitated into the half-dead bushes. I sat down and gasped for air. Once my pulse had finally slowed and i was in a calmer state, I dug my bookbag out of the bush (thankfully, it wasn’t the puke bush). I pulled a few tiny thorns out of my hand and retrieved my house key to unlock the door. Inside, I threw my textbooks onto the bed and filled my bag with what I’d need: clothes, toothbrush, snacks, a blanket. I opened the door to leave, but turned back for two things: a handful of cash from my father’s room (it’s not like he’ll miss it) and a picture of mom.

I left the frame behind, staring at the glossy image in my hands as I left my house for good. It was the last family photo we had taken. I was seven, with wild eyes and a crooked-toothed grin. Mom still looked young and beautiful, her shoulder length hair was thick and glossy before the sickness, the _cancer_ , took it and her away. I carefully slipped the photograph into my pocket and walked, my legs exhausted from running to school and back. Fortunately, Beacon Street wasn’t far.

The cafe was warm and smelled like fresh coffee and pastries. I ordered a muffin and a water and sat down. The clock read 2:12. I took a bite of lemon and poppyseed and waited.


End file.
